Birthdays
by Scrickles
Summary: Hey, even sociopaths have them. It's Gary's birthday, not that he cares... Really. Flashback/One-shot.


_Author's notes: As with all people who have recently completed Bully, I'm feeling at a bit of a loss. I don't think I'm alone in my view that Gary was not only the most interesting character but also one of the least explored. There was potential for more than the cardboard cut-out villain he transpired to be. So all the Bully fanfiction out there's really helped to bridge the gap. I urge you all to write more! Also, check out Enro's amazing artwork on deviantart._

_As you can see, I've gone with the general acceptance that the game takes place somewhere around 1995. Jimmy is yet to enter into the equation._

_I obviously don't own Bully. If I did, there would probably be a sequel. Set in Happy Volts. Guess who you'd play as?_

_Anyway..._

BIRTHDAYS

Gary didn't like birthdays. He didn't like them for the same reason most people tend to love them – that prospect of being lavished with attention, the big smiles, armfuls of presents and that feeling of being a celebrity just for a day.

Not that Gary himself got any of these things – at least, not while he was at Bullworth. No one had any inclination to interact with him most of the time, let alone on his birthday, a day where one's status is temporarily elevated. That is, if they even _knew_ it was his birthday. The unspoken understanding was that it was better for everyone's sake to leave that Gary kid alone.

So what? He only bothered with people when he needed them.

He had already made the decision to skip classes for the day – after all, if you couldn't relax on your birthday then when _could_ you? It didn't occur to Gary at that moment that he often skipped classes regardless of whether it was his birthday or not.

Gary switched the old TV on and flicked through the channels. This in itself was a difficult task – the buttons were stubborn and strangely sticky. Using the remote was out of the question due to some cretin flushing it down the toilet some time last year. On second thoughts, maybe that had been him. He couldn't remember. He found a wildlife program and returned to the couch.

As a pair of tigers moodily swatted each other on the screen, Gary reasoned to himself. No one cared that it was his birthday because they didn't know. In any case, he preferred being by himself anyway.

It was a good thing Petey wasn't around. He was such a little woman that he'd probably bake a cake or something.

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_1984_

A newly four year old Gary fiddled with the candy-striped hat strapped to his head. It dug into his cheeks and he didn't like it. He wasn't sure he liked Uncle Jack very much either, but that didn't stop him from gawping at the balloon animals Uncle Jack made. First a dog, then a snail.

He'd never met Uncle Jack before. He'd also never met Aunt Sarah, or any of those people by the rose bush who told him they worked with his daddy. He looked around the garden with bemusement. Why were they all here now? It didn't make any sense. Surely if they were so important he'd have already met them. They hadn't even wished him happy birthday.

In any case, he was more interested in the bike he'd been promised.

"Look Gary, a duck!" said Aunt Sarah.

Gary looked at the crimson curves of Uncle Jack's latest creation. "That's a _swan_," he said contemptuously. At the age of four years old, Gary had already learned to sneer.

He decided to climb the apple tree in order to keep a look-out for his gift.

There was no sign of his present. His mother was somewhere in the kitchen, stirring liquids that smelled of varnish into pitchers of fruit juice. He knew she'd cancelled one of her many aerobics classes (or was it fitness, he wasn't sure of the difference) to be here. His father often came home late from work. Many a time Gary had had to wait around for an extra hour after school for them to come and pick him up. The colouring pencils and paper his teacher gave him would quickly bore him. While he resented the fact that no other kid got such treatment, he knew he had been granted something they hadn't – lots of time to think. He considered this a privilege no other child his age would appreciate or even understand.

Ah, here was his father in the familiar suit and tie. More importantly, here was his present. He watched his father awkwardly set the bicycle-shaped package down on the grass.

Gary leapt down from the tree (not so great a drop seeing as he had barely managed to climb further than a metre or so) and scurried over to the gift. He didn't look at his father. He tore at the teddy bear wrapping in earnest.

"Kid sure knows what he wants," commented Uncle Jack, downing his punch. The other grown ups laughed. Gary's father frowned slightly.

Yes! Yes! As the last fragment of wrapping paper fell to the ground, Gary stopped to take in the sight of his first bike in all its glory.

But wait, what was this? This bike was green. He'd wanted red. He'd _asked_ for red. He'd _begged_ for red.

This wouldn't do.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to kick his father in the shin and run away. But he was four now and too old for such nonsense. He could swear, as most adults seemed to, but an exhaustive supply of cuss words was yet to be obtained by him.

Instead, he thanked his father and went away to plan his revenge. He rather enjoyed plotting, almost as much as he enjoyed receiving presents. No other kid at school was capable of plotting, he'd noted, due to their lack of thinking time. They were too stupid, he thought snidely. He heard one of the men in suits complain that they'd run out of punch.

In the corner of the garden next to the kitchen door (and just out of sight of the adults) stood a lawn table with a large jug of fruit punch on it. Gary paused and looked at it for a moment. He lifted the jug down and set it on the ground in front of him, the strong varnishy smell pervading his nostrils.

As he unzipped his fly, he listened to one of the adults give a speech about how his dad was going to become the head something-of something. Gary had a feeling he'd see even less of his father than before. He let a broad grin spread across his face as he exacted his revenge. Perhaps, after he'd taken the jug to the adults, he'd take his new bike for a spin.

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Gary was woken from his nap by the sound of students drifting back to the dorm. Judging by the clock classes were done for the day. He listened to the wheezy whines of a couple of nerds (the fat ones, he'd forgotten their names) as they excitedly discussed the upcoming chemistry final.

His neck hurt from his sprawled position on the couch but he couldn't be bothered to move. He closed his eyes again.

When he next opened them, Petey was tentatively tapping his arm in the same manner he might awaken a crocodile. "Hey, Gary," he said in a low voice.

Gary rubbed his eyes. "Shove it, Femme-boy." A grey-haired guy was reading the news. It was just past eight o'clock. He'd been asleep for over four hours in public view and no one had bothered with him. He decided that was a good thing.

Petey sat down on the couch's arm. Gary made a great show of scooching over to the far side of the couch. "Don't give me whatever it is that got you!" he snapped.

Petey seemed to choose to ignore this. "Did your folks call you?" he asked carefully.

Oh lordy, here it came. "No, why would they?"

"Because it's your –" Gary shot him a look. Petey was treading on wafer ice. Gary knew it, Petey knew it, the TV news guy probably knew it. Petey shut up.

They sat in silence for a minute and pretended to be interested in oil slicks. Gary squinted at the TV. Was that guy wearing a _wig_?

"Anyway… happy birthday." Petey shoved a small box at him, blushing profusely.

Gary eyed it. "What is this, a jewellery box? You proposing or something?"

Petey frowned and looked at the floor. "No, it's, uh… just open it."

Gary slid the box open and inspected the watch inside. Silver with a brown leather strap.

Petey shrugged. "You said you needed a new one. I got a pretty good deal on it."

Gary took his time to reply. "Deal? More like you did a _favour_ for one of the creeps at the carnival. You sicko." He tossed the watch in the trash.

Petey looked away. "You know, you don't have to be a jerk _all_ the time." He got up and made towards the door. He paused to say something, thought better of it, and went to his room.

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It was past 11pm when Petey got up to get a soda. Sipping it, he went over to the trashcan.

In the glint of the streetlight outside, he could see that the watch was no longer there. He sighed and went back to his room.

It was the same every year.

_Feedback welcome! This is my first fic so I'm eager to see what people think._


End file.
